


James Potter: Some Years in the Life

by threewick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, James-centric, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, mostly just insight into their daily lives, very light james and lily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewick/pseuds/threewick
Summary: Literally just a bunch of dialogue-driven glimpses into James' life up to seventh year.





	James Potter: Some Years in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is just some nonsense I wrote as an RP app but I thought it better suited one-shot fic. Drabble-y nonsense. I just love the Marauder's so much and will seize any opportunity to write them. Request anything you want at my tumblr, threewickfic!

“He won’t stop talking, Fleamont.”

“C’mon, Euph, he’s got an active imagination! That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” 

“Fine, yes, but Flea- he _never stops talking_. All day, no matter where I go, he’s got one hand fisted in my robes, nattering on about Merlin knows what. Dragons and brooms and explosions and his friends - d’you know he’s got imaginary friends? Loads of them. I’m not sure he’s all the way normal.” 

“Probably not,” Fleamont chuckled, flipping the pages of the _Prophet_ as he glanced fondly down at the sleeping toddler draped across his thighs. 

“He always wants to be held. Always asks for a cuddle, from everyone. Flea, I found him holding Miri’s hand the other day, just toddling along - Miri looked bewildered, nearly went into a seizure trying to apologize, said he insisted. _Miri_ , Fleamont, our _house elf_!” 

Finally Fleamont lowered the paper with as short sigh, sensing a losing battle as he surveyed his wife over his glasses. “He’ll be fine, Euphemia. He’s three, that’s got to be normal for his age - the house elf, though? Really?” 

Euphemia nodded emphatically, a smile twitching at her lips as she watched her sleeping son, his black hair a ruffled mess as he drooled onto his father’s robes. 

“We need to get him some friends. None of ours have children, though, and his cousins are little terrors - I heard that the eldest Black boy, of Walburga’s boys, set their entire house on fire. I don’t know how, he’s no older than James, but the entire thing was belching smoke.” 

“See? A little chatter isn’t so bad. James’s never set anything on _fire._ ” 

“Yet,” Euphemia grumbled, dragging affectionate fingers through her toddler’s messy hair. 

x

“SO YOU SET IT ON _FIRE_?!” 

James cringed at his mother’s outburst, wringing his hands nervously as he watched her with wide, fearful eyes. 

“JAMES MIRIUM POTTER, YOU ANSWER ME THIS INSTANT.” 

“I didn’t mean to!” A whine. “I just - it was so disgusting and I hated the way it smelled and I didn’t want to eat it for dinner, I wanted cauldron cakes, and -” 

“And you set it on fire,” his mother finished lamely, waving a hand to dissipate the smoke. The worst of the fire had already been put out, but the disbelief was still splashed across her face. 

“I didn’t mean to! I just - I just looked at it, and I hated it so much and I wished it would go away, and it just -” He made a coarse sound with his mouth, an imitation of the brussel sprouts igniting. 

“What, you just looked at it and it caught fire?” She was regarding him skeptically, but there was a hint of something else in her expression, something close to pride. 

“Yes,” James dropped his eyes, shuffled his feet nervously. 

“Well. … _Well._ You might be a wizard yet.” She couldn’t help it; she grinned at her son and he glanced up at the softness in her voice, seeing her expression and immediately bursting into a grin himself. 

“So I’m not in trouble, Mum?” 

“No, James.” She was smiling to herself as she swept the charred remnants of tonight’s dinner into the bin, unfazed now as her seven-year-old balled up a fist of her robes and clung to her like a constant shadow. 

“Can we have cauldron cakes for dinner?” 

“No, James.” 

_year one_

“What’s your family going to do when they find out you’re in the wrong house?” 

“I’m not in the wrong house.” 

“Well yeah but a bit. What’re they going to do?” 

“I’m not in the wrong house,” Sirius repeated, more insistent this time, an edge of irritation pressing up against his words. 

“Fine. What’re they going to do when they find out you’re in the right house?” 

“Throw me a party.” The sarcasm was a bit too dry and practiced for an eleven year old, but that was Sirius. 

“Can I come?” 

“Shut up.” 

“But I’m your best mate.” 

“We only met six hours ago.” 

“So you’re saying I’m not your best mate?” 

There was a pause in the darkness of their dormitory, interrupted only by their dormitory mates’ breathing - a skinny, pale kid called Remus Lupin and another boy, Peter. Then, Sirius broke it - 

“No.” 

“You’re my best mate, too.” 

“You’re weird.” 

“Can I come to the party?” 

“‘Course you can. You’re my best mate.” 

James grinned up at the canopy over his bed, thinking that Hogwarts was already better than he’d imagined. He’d made it into Gryffindor, he had a new best friend, and he was already invited to a nonexistent party. Life could hardly get any better. 

_year two_

“Hullo, Marly, what’re you -” 

James stopped dead in his tracks, looking stricken as though he’d seen a boggart. In a way, he had, since Marlene McKinnon was looking determinedly away from him, wiping furiously at her eyes and sniffing heartily. 

“Are you crying?” 

“No.” 

“Yes you are.” 

“Then why did you ask?” 

James shifted nervously from foot to foot. He was rubbish with crying girls; he was rubbish with crying anyone. He was good for a laugh, but absolutely useless when it came to this sort of thing. 

“What’re you crying about?” 

“Quit standing there looking at me, it’s weirding me out.” 

James hesitated, glancing longingly towards the stairs leading away from the otherwise deserted common room before crossing over and plopping down next to Marlene on the couch. 

“Okay now I’m sitting. What’re you crying about?” 

“You being annoying.” Her voice was a mumble, and James’ jaw fell open in indignation before she spoke again. “I’m only joking, of course it isn’t you. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Oh. Good. Well, not good but. A bit. … Can I hold your hand?” 

“Why?” She eyed him suspiciously, with good reason. 

“I dunno. To comfort you or whatever. You’re my friend.” 

“Fine.” Her voice was a huff and she extended her hand, much like a monarch proferring a ring to be kissed. James seemed relieved, however, and seized it in between both of his own. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Are you crying because it’s your girl time? I know about that, you know. I learned about it.” 

“Shut up, James.” 

“Okay.” 

He leaned his cheek against her head, which had fallen against his shoulder and was still leaking tears. “Sorry you’re sad.” 

She gave a great sniff and squeezed his hand. There was a momentary peaceful stretch of silence. 

“... Are you sure it isn’t your time?” 

“Shut _up_ , James.” 

_year three_

“James? What’re you doing?” 

“REMUS! Hullo, mate, didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Pads? And Wormtail?” 

“Sirius’ off with that blonde Ravenclaw and Peter had extra credit to do - James, what the hell are you doing? There’s flour _everywhere._ ” 

“You mean Sirius is off practicing snogging with his own hand in a broom closet.” James chortled to himself, right hand gripped around the wooden spoon handle as he violently stirred the bowl cradled in his left arm. “That Ravenclaw’s not going to let him have it off with her, she thinks he’s a snob. She told Marly last week.” 

“James. What. Are. You. Doing.” 

Exasperation was writ into James’ face as he placed his bowl gently on the counter before flinging his arms open wide, indicating the fantastic mess that was surrounding him. It looked as if several barrels full of flour had erupted across the kitchens; there was fine white powder settled into his dark hair, dusting his shoulders in the suggestion of the dandruff they always teased Remus for having (he didn’t), a stripe of it along the right cut of his jaw where he’d dragged a careless hand. It was coating the counter before him, the counter behind him, sprinkled along the floor like virgin snow, and James was standing in the center of it, looking utterly nonplussed. 

“I’m making a cake, Remus, what does it look like I’m doing?” 

“You - but - James, there’s flour everywhere!” Remus repeated in a squawk, abandoning his tatty knapsack and clambering over to James. “Where’re the house elves? What did you do with them? James, you’re going to get suspended, Merlin, this is such a mess -” 

“Keep your hair on, Moony, I didn’t _do_ anything with them, the house elves love this shit, you know they do. They’ll wake up and think Father Christmas came, all this lovely work for them to do. And I’ll clean most of it up anyway - d’you know what the difference between nutmeg and hazelnut is?" 

“James, why are you making a cake?” 

Without glancing up from his ingredients, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “For Professor McGonagall.” 

“James. Why are you making a cake for Professor McGonagall?” 

“Because it’s our third anniversary.” 

“Of _what_?” 

“Of the first time she gave me detention, of course. Now what do you think, if I want to make it a proper treacle tart, how much treacle do I need? Also, what is treacle?” 

There was a stretch of silence as Remus stared at him, bringing a hand up to rub at his perpetually tired eyes. 

“Remus?” 

“Alright then, budge up. You’re going to need sugar and molasses and a specific charm,” Remus mumbled, sidling up next to James and beginning to rifle through the ingredients. A sunrise burst over James’ face and he pressed a beaming cheek against Remus’ shoulder. 

“I love you, Moons. You were always my favorite.” 

"You say that to all of us." 

"But I only mean it with you." 

“I know, James.” 

_year four_

“Stop staring at me.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are, Potter, you weirdo, cut it out.” 

“I’m not! I’m trying to figure out if that cloud looks more like an erumpant or Professor Slughorn.” 

A different voice cut in. 

“No you’re not, you’re just pretending to look out the window every time she looks over at you.” 

“Now, now, Marlene, you shouldn’t spread lies.” 

Marlene let out a faintly amused huff of exasperation, turning her nose back down to their cauldron. James continued to stare at the side of Lily’s head, his eyes nearly crossing with the effort; it was the latest on his laundry list of ‘things to do in order to get Evans’ attention’, and Sirius wasn’t amused. 

“Stop being a prat, James, and help me slice up this dead rat thing.” 

“I can’t, I’m staring at Evans.” 

“Ha! I _knew_ you were staring at me!” 

“Eavesdropping is rude, Evans.” James raised his eyebrows and adopted a placating expression, as if he were bestowing her a small gift in the form of this unwanted etiquette lesson. 

“I wasn’t - you’re right next to me! And you said my name!” 

He was still shaking his head. “I’m very disappointed in you, Evans.” 

“Shut up, Potter,” she snapped, brow furrowed and cheeks slightly pinker as she turned her back to him. 

“You can make it up to me by going to Hogsmeade with me next weekend.” 

“Not on your life.” 

“C’mon, Evans, it’ll be fun -” 

“Bloody hell, James, shut your fat gob and _help me with this potion_.” 

“Just one date and -” 

“James, shut up, she doesn’t want to go with you, help Sirius with his potion -” 

“Don’t be jealous, Marly -” 

“I’m not jealous, you wanker, shut -” 

“ _JAMES_ , help me, I don’t know what to put -” 

A small explosion sent sludgey magenta liquid splashing all over James and Sirius’ fronts, immediately causing shaggy black hair to erupt on any skin it touched. 

“Well, it’s definitely an improvement,” Remus remarked as they were ushered out of the room by a scowling Slughorn. 

“Shut up, Remus.” 

“Evans isn’t ever going to go out with you, mate.” 

“Shut up, Sirius.” 

_year five_

“What d’you think I should do, Pete?” 

“Study for your OWLs, probably.” Peter flipped to the next page, vague panic clear in his eyes as he glanced back and forth from the book to his unfinished essay. 

“Nah. She told Marlene she used to think I was cute - what does that mean, _used_ to? I’m still plenty cute. Aren’t I, Pete?” 

“Sure, James. The cutest.” 

“Say it like you mean it.” 

Peter glanced up from his book, clearly channeling Remus if the annoyance twitching his mouth was anything to go by. “ _James_ ,” he implored. 

“Please?” James leaned over on their bench, putting all of his weight against Peter, being especially annoying today with not a lick of a guilt. 

“You’re the cutest and I mean it.” His voice was a grumble and he was back to staring at his book, but it was enough for James, who was beaming. 

“Thanks, mate, you’re well fit too. Now. How’re we going to get Evans to fall in love with me?” 

Peter let out a sigh of surrender, shutting his book with a snap and leaning back to survey James. His sandy blonde hair was a mess as usual and but he didn’t look quite as nervous; James had a sneaking suspicion it was because Sirius wasn’t around, though he hardly wanted to open that can of worms. 

“I reckon she thinks you’re a bit of a prat,” Peter offered, pulling apologetic face. 

“Oi! What makes you say that?” 

“Because she said to your face and in front of all of us that she thinks you’re a bit of a prat.” 

“Oh, right, that. Well, sure, but she doesn’t _mean_ it.” 

“Weren’t you snogging that fourth year last weekend anyway?” 

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I love Lily any less. If anything, it only proves I love her _more_ ; I’m practicing now, so when we inevitably wed, I’ll be in top form.” 

Peter snorted. “Just tell her that. You’ll win her right over.” 

“I have a feeling you’re not taking this seriously, Pete.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re a terrible friend.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I know. I love you. Want me to help you study?” 

“Like you promised you would two hours ago?” 

“You can’t rush perfection, Wormtail.” 

“Whatever.” 

_year six_

"Bloody hell, Pads." 

"It's not as bad as all that." 

"Is that - can I see your _bone_?" James goggled at Sirius' gashed thigh, squinting at it as though he was able to see anything in the weak moonlight. 

"I said fuck off, mate. Don't make a thing of it, it'll have Moony all bent out of shape." 

"We've got to take you to Pomfrey." Peter was wringing his hands nervously, trailing behind them and looking distinctly uneasy as Sirius' leg continued to leak thick, red blood. James visibly perked up at the suggestion. 

"Yeah! Let's go see Poppy. We haven't popped round there in a bit." 

"James, you saw her last _week_ , you are so bloody transparent, and we can hardly go waltzing in there with a werewolf bite on my f- _ow_." 

"Nah, mate, you're the one who's bloody right now," James said, guffawing at his own joke yet quickly stepping underneath one of Sirius' arms all the same. Peter mirrored the movement opposite and then they were buddy-carrying Sirius back to the castle, none of them wanting to discuss the state they'd left Moony in nor the flesh wound staining Sirius' pantsleg. 

There was a stretch of silence broken only by the soft trudge of their shoes on the grass and Peter's rattling breaths; then, James offered hopefully, "Maybe we could transform? Just - just to get up to the school. Y'know, might be a bit easier with three legs to balance on instead of one." 

"Yeah, okay. Just - hang on then, quit dragging me along." 

"No need to be testes, Sirius." 

"Testy." 

"That's what I said, Wormtail. You ready? Can you handle it, you think?" There was an edge of concern to James' voice. 

"'Course I can, you nancy, we've been doing this four nearly three years. We're brilliant wizards, remember? Now hang on -" 

There was a ripple of condensed magic and then, in the weak moonlight of the castle grounds, the three boys disappeared. In their place stood a stag, a massive, shaggy black dog, and a very small rat; there was a beat, and then they all began to streak toward the castle on well-practiced legs, the dog limping only slightly as they split across the grounds. 

_year seven_

“Maybe he was drunk.” 

“Sod off. … Maybe.” 

“Maybe he was _stoned_.” 

“Do you think he gets stoned?” 

“Dumbledore? Oh, yeah. Definitely.” 

James paused a bit at that, before conceding, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“Maybe it’s a practical joke,” Sirius offered, snatching the gleaming Head Boy badge out of James’ hands. 

“D’you think?” 

“Nah. He’s always had a soft spot for you. Reckon he’s trying to get you to live up to your potential or something equally as unpleasant.” 

James scowled at the thought as Sirius bit the edge of the badge, testing it for Merlin knew what. 

“How are you gonna manage this _and_ Quidditch? What if you have to choose?” 

“Quidditch, hands down.” 

“There’s a good lad. Your mum’s going to have a proper meltdown when she sees this. Five sickles there’ll be blubbering for weeks.” 

“There will not be _blubbering_ -” 

“What am I not blubbering about? Hello, Sirius.” Euphemia smudged a kiss to his forehead, crossing over to do the same to her son. 

“Your second favorite son’s made Head Boy.” Sirius punctuated the words by tossing the badge at her. She caught it easily, glanced at it and then back up with confusion splashed across her face. “James' done what? Is this - what, is this _yours_ , James?” 

“It’s not _that_ unbelievable!” 

“It is a bit, mate. Oh - see? Blubbering.” 

“ _Mum_! Don’t bloody cry - oh, Merlin, mum.” 

“You owe me five quid.” 

“Mum, you’re choking me, c’mon - ow. Pads, I hate you.” 

“Don’t put me in detention, Prefect Potter!” 

“I really hate you.” 

*** 

“This will be our legacy, lads.” 

“That is a sad, sad legacy, Pads.” 

“Shut up, Prongs, as though your idea was any better. An indoor waterslide, I swear.” 

“That would’ve been brilliant! I don’t know why you idiots vetoed it -” 

“Because it was _impossible_.” 

“Nonsense, Moony could’ve figured it out -” 

“Oh, really? Just going to leave the tricky bits up to me, then? Make me sort out an entire bloody waterslide in the Great Hall?” 

James grinned sheepishly under the weight of Remus’ heatless glare before insisting in a mumble to no one in particular, “It would’ve been brilliant.” Peter glanced over, shot him a nearly sympathetic look although it was crowded by frustrated concentration as he attempted the spell again. 

“It’s more of a swooping motion, Wormtail, hang on -” Remus reached out, adjusting Peter’s spell casting as James transformed the name on a golden breastplate from ‘CASTOR POLLUX, FOR SERVICES TO THE SCHOOL RENDERED’ to ‘HUGH GESTARSE, FOR SERVICES TO YOUR MUM RENDERED’. Beside him, Sirius crowed a delighted laugh. 

“What’ve you got?” James sidled up to him. 

“Look, Pete! You won an award!” Sirius cackled, throwing an arm out to proudly point out his best work of the night. A gleaming golden trophy proclaimed Peter File as the Reigning Bum Licker. James grinned, pleased, and clapped Sirius on the back like a proud father. 

“I don’t lick bums! And that isn’t my last name!” 

“Sure you don’t, Pete,” James answered cheerfully, sidling past them to flick his wand at Nicholas Flamel, who turned into Jennifer Talia. 

A sudden sound in the corridor had them freezing, whipping their heads around, four guilty sets of eyes trained on the dark doorway. It came again, nearer, and James hardly needed the whispered, “QUICK” before they were all pressing against one another beneath his cloak, stooping slightly so as to hide their feet. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it had been when they were third years, no thanks to Sirius’ height or James’ own lanky, stringy build. 

They shuffled over to the far wall just as the irate caretaker burst into the room, darting his furious eyes into the corners of the seemingly empty trophy room. 

“If I find you lot out of bed, I’ll have your hide this time, I will,” he promised in a low growl. “Fat Lady says you never left, but I know - I know you’re a wicked group, got all sorts of dark magic keeping you safe from me, but one of these days…” He slunk off, torchlight bobbing across the walls as he went, and it wasn’t until it had faded out completely that the boys burst into pleased snickers. 

“Merlin, he’s onto us and our dark magic.” 

“Peter, this is no time to be cracking jokes, our hides are on the line.” 

“James, stop giggling, your breath is tickling my ear.” 

“Sorry, Moons, is this better?” 

There was a wet sound followed by a disgusted yelp. 

“For Merlin’s sake, James, don’t bloody lick me!” 

“Come on, you idiots, let’s get back up to the dormitory before he calls Minnie on us. She’ll be none too pleased to see our handiwork -” 

“What handiwork will I be none too pleased to see?” 

Four pairs of feet came to a sudden halt, breath caught in chests as the imposing figure of Minerva McGonagall stepped into the room, arms stretched out in a way that was almost comical had they not know the reason; she was preventing their exit. 

“I know you’re in here. Take off that ridiculous cloak at once, Potter, or _I_ will have your hide.” 

There was a pregnant pause, then the soft swish of fabric sliding against fabric and suddenly, four sheepish seventh years appeared in front of her. Her mouth tightened into a thinner line; James’ life flashed before his eyes. 

“MINNIE!” Sirius cried out, throwing his arms open wide. 

“Five points from Gryffindor, Black, and if you call me anything but Professor, I will deduct five more.” 

“Sorry, Professor Minnie,” Sirius amended, smiling cheekily at her. Remus jabbed him in the ribs. 

“I will give you half an hour to rectify whatever it is in this castle you have ruined,” she said slowly, eyes sweeping around the trophy room but apparently seeing nothing out of place. “I will check your beds for you in thirty minutes and if you’re not there, you’re all suspended - _yes_ , Mister Lupin, suspended. And use that ridiculous cloak to get back to your dormitory; I am tired of being embarrassed by you imbeciles.” 

She swept out of the room and they watched her go, before Sirius let out a small, indignant noise. “All that after I made her a cake so many years ago.” 

“OI!” James protested, socking him on the arm. “You didn’t make her that cake, I did!” 

“Bollocks, it was for all three of our anniversary. It was from me as much as it was from you!” 

“That’s rubbish!” 

“Ow! Don’t flick my ear, James _Mirium_ , I’ll flick your ear -” 

The sharp sounds of slapping echoed against the stone walls as the boys set into each other with open palms and limp wrists, Peter edging away from them as Remus ran a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“STOP!” 

The room fell silent, James blinking at Remus with a fistful of Sirius dressing gown in one hand and Sirius regarding him as though surprised at the interruption while gripping a handful of James’ hair. 

“Are we going to put the trophies back?” 

They released each other. 

“No, of course not. Now c’mon, let’s go to bed. Peter needs his rest, ‘s gotta wake up and lick some bums tomorrow.” 

Peter yelped in defiance. 

“Only joking, Pete. We all know Remus is the bum licker.” 

Another yelp, and then the were swallowed up by the cloak.


End file.
